Dangerous Moonlight

[Malacandra]

(The events in this narrative occur after Ships That Pass In The Night and Steel Thunder.)

The beard made him look rascally, Hammond suspected. At least, to other humans it probably did. Other species no doubt had different views, just as he himself barely noticed whether Birds had crests or not, far less attributed any particular character to them on the strength of it. The uniform, on the other hand, presumably more than offset it. Smart without being overtly militaristic, it made Dangerous Moonlight's crew look businesslike and professional - just the image a respectable transport company wanted if it was to attract the highest-paying customers.

As to the beard, that was going to be a temporary fixture as far as Hammond was concerned. Already its colour and consistency were improving, indicating that the skin regeneration programme was nearly complete. Taken all in all, he'd got off lightly.

Other changes - well, to inspire passenger confidence, the days of flaming up to a Coriolis station with injectors blazing, only to stop on a tenth-credit, yaw sharp left or right and zip in at over a hundred per - those days were gone for good. Now it was strictly by the book, approaching at normal speed, respectable as that was for a Boa Class Cruiser, taking their bearings from the navigation buoy and docking at what seemed like a stately amble. The passengers liked it better that way, and he wasn't a hot-shot Asp pilot any more even if his ship had as iron an ass as any small-scale liner could have.

For "Coriolis" read "Dodecahedron", on this occasion, but the principle was still the same: call for docking clearance once Dangerous Moonlight was well within the aegis, stand down all weapons in case of the one-in-a-thousand chance that someone might touch the wrong button by mistake, and wait patiently for the other incoming traffic to clear no matter how frustratingly slow it might be. That tested patience to the extreme when it was one of the boxy Workers' Commuters easing its way painfully into the docking slot, its drive barely able to move it above a snail's pace, but that wasn't where the trans-cluster transit times were slashed. No, that was down to assiduous Jump planning - there was no need to worry about a few minutes stuck in a queue when you'd already saved many hours crossing the light-years by expeditious routes. Passengers
valued that kind of planning highly, and paid off not just in compliments and recommendations, valuable though they were, but in hard Galactic Credits.

On the strength of which, Hammond was already not so far off making Dangerous Moonlight into a franchise. He'd incorporated her and his crew into a company already, duly receipted and filed on Xevera in Sector Five - but for the next step he would need... Well, that was why he was here, although there were always alternatives in case this particular plan fell through.

Dangerous Moonlight's eight passengers were eager to disembark and sample the fleshpots of a strange station; even in a Communist system there were lavish facilities under GalCop's authority, and the Aqutebians were not such slaves to principle that they were at all unhappy about trading their consumer goods to foreign tourists through a GalCop outlet. Credits were credits, after all, and whereas some citizens in Aqutebi's planned economy might have to wait patiently for their turn on the waiting list to come round for some of the planet's latest gewgaws, the tourist allotment wasn't going to be given up for their benefit. In a TL12 system, that meant some quite fancy goods, even if the collective's sense of design was sometimes a little idiosyncratic.

Meanwhile Hammond was checking the ship through the usual protocols, still with the slightly unfamiliar experience of presenting company credentials rather than his personal ones. It meant there was no official picture of the shipowner on Moonlight's records, but a company address instead - which in some instances, such as this, just meant a holding address in premises shared by a large number of other corporations. That didn't faze the Aqutebi customs official, though.
There was a vast difference in ethos between a Corporate and a Communist state, but they both spoke the language of bureaucracy as their mother tongue. Equally, there was not the least reason to be interested in the identity of a minor functionary such as a ship's pilot. The GalCop record stated that he was Clean, and in any case that was no concern of the station authorities once a ship was docked.

"Strange name," commented the customs officer. "What is dangerous about moonlight?"

"I'm unsure," said Hammond cheerfully. "It seems to be a tradition on some Human worlds that moonlight caused insanity, or could turn men into monsters. All 'moonshine', as they say - which, for whatever reason, means 'nonsense'."

"We were guilty of our own superstitions," said the local, "once; but now we are done with all that, under the Party's wise leadership. Your ship looks dangerous enough, though."

His gesture took in the Boa's lasers, missiles and Cascade Mine. Hammond acquiesced with a gesture of his own. "Naturally. Not all systems are as well policed as yours, and company policy is to accept contracts to any destination regardless of risk - so we do what we can to minimise them."

"As you say. And you can find Bugs anywhere." The customs officer may not have noticed Hammond's wince. "Well, all is in order and you are free to depart when you have turned around."

Hammond made for the lift and a few minutes later was in full station gravity. It was not far from midnight, local time, and with a couple of hours to kill there was only one place a red-blooded spacer would head, even if it meant a sobriety shot from the ship's doc before departure - and that was another advantage of a luxuriously-equipped Boa Class Cruiser over a spartan fighter like the Asp. Besides, Hammond had a business proposal for a friend.

* * * * *

The lighting was low in the bar, but there were still one or two customers. Hammond's eyes adapted to the dim and searched the faces for one that he knew. He couldn't see her. Well, it had been months, and she had plans of her own. Maybe the bartender would have some news, especially with a five-credit note as a memory aid.

"Evening!" he said in low tones; the bar was quiet enough that yelling would be crass. "A shot of whatever's cold and non-toxic, and do you happen to know if T'kella is on the premises tonight?" She might be with a customer, of course - or even have realized her ambition and managed to emigrate in search of a career as an economist elsewhere. But Hammond was unprepared for the bartender's reply.

"Yes, sir," he answered in rather louder tones. "We have several bottles in the stock-room, but they're sold only on the manager's authority. If you wish to come through, I can show you what we have."

Hammond's gut wrenched and his heart gave a sharp double thump, but he had been in real deadly danger enough to know when to control his reactions and think quickly. "Thank you! I wasn't sure you had any," he answered equally loudly.

And that, hopefully, was good enough for now, and on GalCop territory. Hammond followed the bartender through, who murmured softly "I had better unlock a bottle, at that, so we can be seen to have done what we supposedly came here for. It is you, under that beard, isn't it? I wasn't sure, but I've seen Humans grow beards before. I hoped you would come - oh, how I hoped!"

As bad as he was at reading Aqutebi face and body language, Hammond had no trouble recognising the bartender's evident upset. "You had better unlock that bottle, for sure. What happened?"

Handing Hammond a tot of some highly-exclusive spirit from three sectors away, the bartender shook his too-large head. "Terrible. Simply terrible. First, she is still alive - probably. Most probably. When the State does not execute, it generally takes much care to keep alive. But that is all the good news I have for you.
"I saw you had made a large impression on our little bar-girl. I am skilled in reading such things. Not such as to cause her distress, you will be happy to know. She has always been too resilient for that. But I saw her, often, watching the station traffic out of the window. That was not like her.
"One day - I do not know what she saw, I was not on duty at the time, but I heard she went skipping merrily along to the viewing gallery where you can watch ships dock. And she wandered over to have a word with the clerk who registers the arrivals, perhaps to enquire who had arrived. No-one knows - just as no-one expected the policeman on duty to arrest her before she had taken five paces on State property.
"GalCop made the usual objections; Amnesty Intergalactic registered an official protest. But neither of them had any say over what an officer of Aqutebi law did on Aqutebi soil, which as you know..."

"Begins and ends at a yellow line on this very deck," finished Hammond. He tried the spirit. Despite himself, he found it excellent; but it was of very little help.

"Such is the case. There was a trial - a very public trial; the State wanted it that way. She was granted a public defender, of course. And, also of course - "

"- the sentence, never mind the verdict, was a foregone conclusion before the judge even began the opening ceremony," finished Hammond.

"I see you are familiar with our justice system," said the bartender sadly. "You're quite right. The crimes were 'tax avoidance' and 'associating with outworlders suspected of dissident sympathies'."

"Meaning me."

"Yes, for a fact. But do not upset yourself," added the bartender. "Tax avoidance is close enough to treason in Aqutebian law that the other charge was merely a makeweight. A good citizen does not arrange his affairs so that he will earn his living a few metres from State jurisdiction, all the while cheating his fellow citizens of a share in his earnings – so says the Party! Alas for poor T'kella, she refused - as I do not refuse - to make an ex gratia payment equal to her annual tax liability. The State does not like to be mocked."

"Another," said Hammond, waving the empty glass. "So she's where now? In prison?"

"At work. On the business the State had in mind for her in the first place, but under less favourable circumstances, and for - as you doubtless guess - for no wages beyond prison housing and food. But not on the planet. On an Astromine."

"Do you know which one?" Aqutebi had three.

The bartender nodded human-style. "That was no secret, either. Aqutebians do not like bright sunlight - the planet is mostly screened by dense forest. So the State, in its wisdom, sent her to - "

"The sunniest."

"It is as you say. And we have spent as long in here as I dare, even if I am the only person on this station to have seen through your beard."

"Understood. Now we walk out of here in great good humour, for you've made a valuable sale on the spot," Hammond said, adding in a louder voice, "and the product is exactly as advertised, sir! How much for a new bottle, did you say?"

"Two hundred and thirty-five credits. I am sorry, the shipping charges alone from three sectors over -"

"Bah! I'll make that back the next time I hit the hoops! Wrap it up for me, I need to clear my berth in an hour and a half."

The bartender went along with the show, and the one part of Hammond's act that wasn't feigned was his total indifference to the ruinous expense. Shipping contract passengers paid insanely well as long as the ship wasn't lost to piracy. He took the bottle with an expansive gesture, under cover of which the bartender murmured, "You haven't a single hope of getting her out of an Astromine, you know."

"Of course. But I surely intend to try."

"That I also know."

* * * * *

More haste, less speed. It would be worse than useless to page his passengers or take Dangerous Moonlight out of her berth ahead of schedule. As the bartender had said, he might be the only person on Aqutebi station to have seen through Hammond's beard so far, but that would not last the moment someone decided to run a computer analysis on the face of Dangerous Moonlight's pilot. He had to stay inconspicuous and thank whatever gods may be that his ship was registered under corporate ownership and he had flown her in like a luxury limousine instead of a hot-shot fighter.

Fortunately his parting remarks in the bar - at least, the audible ones - had established his persona as a high-rolling overpaid contract pilot, and nobody gave him a second glance as he presented his credentials at the teller's window and withdrew a fat wad of high-value notes. No Casino player ever dreamed of settling his debts by electronic transfer, and bargaining for tourist tat was always reckoned a more authentic experience when it was to be paid for in cash.

Meanwhile Hammond's brain was in overdrive working on Operation Unthinkable. Not even Dangerous Moonlight's impressive firepower could extract anyone from an Astromine by force or threat of force, and it was an absolute certainty that if he made the attempt, sooner or later he would be buried under a tide of Military Rays that not even a Deadly combateer could hope to overcome. Bribery was not much better - although he had many thousands of credits at his disposal, Communist officials were notoriously difficult to suborn if for no other reason than that the State reprisals were uniformly brutal in hundreds of worlds along the Eight. But there might be a way...

Before he went any further, though, Hammond paged his two crewmen. One was Jefferson, a human like himself who had been happy to quit Bien and the ever-present risk of being drafted for yet another civil war while the planet was stumbling towards a one-world government, which the political analysts didn't see happening any time within the next century. The other was a Larivearian humanoid, of striking scarlet hue and truly impressive girth. Neither of the two humans could pronounce his real name convincingly. For whatever reason, Hammond had nicknamed him "Booster" and he didn't seem unhappy with the cognomen, declaring it better than hearing the name his mother had bestowed on him mangled every time he heard it.

In the noisy main concourse of the station, Hammond briefed the pair of them: "When I signed each of you up, the contract didn't say you had to stand for any funny business on my part. I'm about to get into serious trouble with the law and you don't have to be dragged into it. If you want to quit here and now, I'll give you severance pay and a handsome reference - you've earned it. But if you don't, I'll have you ask you to do as you're told without even asking how high to jump. You're free to choose."

Jefferson shrugged fractionally. "You mind telling us what kind of funny business, sir?"

"I daren't. Loose lips sink ships. I know I'm asking a lot, but I'm already saying more than I would if it was anyone but the two of you."

"Can you tell us why, then?" rumbled Booster, a good octave below human pitch.

"A friend in trouble."

Booster and Jefferson looked at each other. "We're in," murmured Jefferson. "That's all the reason a man ever needed where I came from."

"We're more civilised than you," Booster added, "but we have traditions too."

"Thank you. Then I'm sorry, but as of now, I'll be saying what I need to when I need to, and not a moment before. And with a large slice of luck, we'll all get out of this alive. Carry on as normal until launch."

The more he thought over his plan, the more plausible it seemed. Really it was only an exercise in applied psychology - too bad he hadn't studied the subject properly. But it was going to take nerves of duralloy to pull it off.

* * * * *

Astromine Penal Colony LVP328-AQ6 looked as soulless as it had the last time he was here, a giant prison comprising an ugly, square, blocky docking bay connected by a pair of tubes to an ugly, square, blocky prison factory and foundry complex. A steady trickle of mining pods and scavengers processed in and out twenty-four hours a day, if days had any meaning here in the hellish Inner Belt where asteroids nearly grazed the sun. It made a certain kind of functional machine-like sense, the kind that appealed to the Communist mind. Blazing solar energy evaporated volatiles from the asteroid's surfaces, here and there valuable metals even condensed on a rock's night-side, and the Astromine's solar furnaces had a limitless supply of power to refine even the most refractory of ores.

The only possible negative feature of this arrangement was that it meant subjecting sentient beings to living conditions that undermined the strongest constitutions in a few short years, and made brutes out of the best of them in a fraction of that time. Even the Gulag Overseers had to be rotated out after five standard years and there were few indeed who applied for a second term no matter the - by Communist standards - fantastic inducements offered to them. And an Overseer's living conditions were palatial compared to the workers, which the State justified by the mental legerdemain common to all such states and in flat defiance of the Party's political slogans.

Dangerous Moonlight's squawk-box was full of political slogans right now in any case. Where there were Astromine Convicts there were always policemen, in case the lure of a spaceship with a functional engine and laser should prove too much of a temptation. Escape was unheard of, naturally; the mining ships were slow, low on life support and nearly defenceless, and any Convict outside of his assigned zone immediately and irrevocably acquired a price on his head for the sport of any passing ship with a functioning laser. That didn't keep the State from maintaining a constant police presence, both the regular People's Police and the slogan-spewing Thought Police, forever anxious to discourage wrong-thinking and emphasise the many virtues of the Party's ideals.

"Constant surveillance will bring equality!"

Hammond signalled Penal Colony LVP328-AQ6 for docking clearance and was unsurprised to find himself queueing behind a flame-red Scavenger Ray, another of the Communists' single-purpose ships which was designed for nothing except scooping sixteen tons of cargo. There was a very, very old song about "sixteen tons" that Hammond remembered a few words from, no more; it was yet another hangover from humanity's legendary past along with chocolate. Perhaps some Party official years ago had a sense of humour, or at any rate a sense of irony, when he was laying down the Scavenger's specifications. The Ray inched along, so unlike the swift fighting ship it was modelled on, gradually crawling towards the cavernous docking bay with Party slogans stencilled above and at the rear. Hammond couldn't read the alphabet and right now had no interest in asking the computer for a translation.

"Our glorious leaders will fulfil the five-year plan!"

Gradually the Scavenger Ray crept into the docking bay and was secured, while a few kilometres away among the asteroids mining lasers flickered intermittently and large boulders were smashed to splinters for other Scavengers to scoop and bring back to the Astromine. Hammond could feel his pulse beginning to race, and he couldn't afford that for now. He needed the autodoc to take care of that - and another small detail that was going to become important in a few minutes. That wasn't a problem. Receiving the all-clear from the Astromine's traffic control, Hammond advanced Dangerous Moonlight's throttle a fraction. "Booster, mind the helm a moment," he called; there was no need for anyone at the Tactical station at this time and place.

"Informers will bring security!"

The autodoc queried both of the doses he asked for, but he was in sound health and needed only a pro-forma confirmation of his request. He felt a momentary sting from the hypospray and almost instantly began to feel calmer. And also... but that would wait for now. With the Astromine's docking bay looming large in front of Dangerous Moonlight he relieved Booster at the helm, giving the pitch and yaw just the merest touch on final approach. The Boa Class Cruiser was a big ship, but she could dock in an Astromine without risk of scraping the sides if her pilot had the faintest idea what he was about - and Hammond most certainly did have.

Dangerous Moonlight powered down just before the latest improving statement from the Thought Police could be received. Hammond gave Booster and Jefferson a nod before activating the ship's intercom. "Attention, all passengers. We are docking for a short time at Astromine Penal COlony LVP328-AQ6, Aqutebi system. Please be advised that this is a State prison and industrial facility, not a tourist attraction. Further, you would find the Colony's life-systems incongenial compared to your customised staterooms. Dangerous Moonlight therefore very strongly recommends that you not disembark for the short duration of this stay. Our schedule will not be compromised."

Outside, workers - convicts under strict supervision - were securing Dangerous Moonlight against any chance movement of the Astromine and preparing to handle cargo should the visiting commander be conducting business. Otherwise there was little an Astromine could provide except fuel. Except in certain rare cases, which Hammond was presently counting on. He stepped out into the low gravity and thin-but-breathable atmosphere, where he was immediately approached by the station overseer. Good, that was exactly what he needed. He had his company credentials ready well before the functionary reached him.

"Welcome, offworlder!" said the official, whose nametag announced him to be Overseer Wasolyn. He was large for an Aqutebian although still a full head shorter than Hammond. "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"Trade, sir," said Hammond. "Just come from the main station and bought up their bulk supply of computers and farm machinery - and it'll sell well too - but I've still forty tons of hold space to fill, minerals will do fine, and I'll take any gems and precious metals you have too. I have passengers, but I warned them against sightseeing before we docked."

Wasolyn touched a few spots on his datapad. "That is all in order - your company credit is more than enough. We will have that loaded for you within the hour, and schedule you for priority departure."

"Thank you very much. Say, just as man to man, could I ask you another favour? Kind of off the record - but nothing against the law, you can be sure of it. It'd be a ready-cash arrangement."

"If, as you say, you are proposing nothing criminal, then please ask," said Overseer Wasolyn, "but I do warn you that our laws may be stricter than you think."

"Well, as I'm asking in good faith, you can tell me if I'm asking something I shouldn't, and I'll drop the subject at once, and take it as a hint never to ask again in this system," said Hammond. "It's like this. We're both men, aren't we? And my louse of an employer only scheduled me a two-hour stopover at the main station. Said I could catch up on my sleep next Witchjump, if you please! Which I shall - but a man doesn't get by just on food and sleep, does he?"

"I am unsure that I follow you," said Wasolyn, though his expression was indicating that he was following Hammond tolerably well. "What are you asking, exactly?"

"I was - " Hammond looked about him with about the right amount of furtiveness - "kinda hoping to find a little company while I was on the station. Just for half an hour or so. But it turned out there wasn't anyone free while I was in, and a man's got to keep his eye on the clock or the bosses are going to start asking questions - and I'm on a bonus this run. Anyhow, that's all my bad luck - but I heard a rumour you have a for-real comfort girl right the way out here, and I was wondering if it would be out of line for me to take a run at her?"

Overseer Wasolyn started. "What you are asking is not illegal, exactly, but it is certainly not regular."

"I sort of thought it might be. Look, I'm happy to see you don't do badly out of it. Favour for a favour and all that - it's only fair, isn't it? Would fifty creds be out of order? Strictly off the books. It's not illegal where I come from either, but the company wouldn't expect to pay for it."

Fifty credits was quite an inducement for what was not illegal, exactly, and Hammond was quietly confident he'd pitched it about right. "Nor would my superiors, were our places reversed. I believe I can condone what you are asking - the girl has finished her shift for the day and is not due to resume duty for eleven hours. However, I must warn you, though I am not a xenobiologist, that I am not sure she can... ahem, accommodate a man of your physique."

"No harm in trying, I think," said Hammond. "You don't insist she has to enjoy it, do you?"

The understanding look Overseer Wasolyn gave him was the most loathsome part of the business to date - but not, Hammond was horribly aware, anything like as loathsome as things were about to get.

* * * * *

She was curled up on a hard bunk that would have counted as cruel and unusual punishment in itself, in many a world with a more humane view of justice, in a cell that had minimal environmental control, blazing hot and stuffy, with a single high window-slit that couldn't be covered and let in a pitiless glare of heat and light from the star that was only a few million miles distant. Huddled with her back to the door, and nothing to cover her except what looked like a hospital gown, it looked as though she were trying to make the world outside her head disappear for the few brief hours that were allowed her.

"Humans don't like to be watched," murmured Hammond to Overseer Wasolyn. "Hope that's in order, just for a few minutes."

"It is the same with many species, ours among them. None will open this door until you are ready."

Hammond knew that wasn't a cast-iron guarantee, but also that he wasn't going to be able to negotiate a better one. "Thanks. This didn't ought to take too long."

As soon as the door clanged shut behind him, Hammond closed the distance to T'kella in three long strides. She was already turning, hand held up as though to ward off a blow as she protested "But... it is not time yet...". Then she recognised him and her eyes went from glazed to wide-open in an instant. She was alert enough to keep her voice low and only murmured "Spaceman!"

Of course she would see through his beard in a heartbeat. Hammond hadn't expected anything else. "Yes. I came as quickly as I could."

"Too late, all the same. Kill me, spaceman? You're strong enough to pass it off as an accident." He could see that she meant every word.

"Not while I can think of a better plan. We've got literally no time and just the one chance. If I can convince our friend out there that there's a fate for you that's worse than being an Astromine comfort girl. You're going to have to scream, and make it convincing."

Her eyes met his and he could hardly bear the look of calm courage. "I understand. But you're going to have to give me something to scream for, leave marks, and make it convincing." T'kella gestured, making it clear that she wasn't just talking about a slap or two. His gut wrenched afresh.

"I don't want to."

"I know. That's what'll make it bearable, spaceman. One chance. Make it count."

"All right!" yelled Hammond, plenty loud enough to be audible outside the cell. "I don't want to hear any excuses. I've paid for this and I want to get on with it. Spread them! Wider!"

She did as she was told, but cowered as she did it. "Please don't hurt me! I'll try, but - Oh, that's too much, I can't, you'll tear me!"

"Shut up and open up!" roared Hammond. She was a mature Aqutebian female and experienced into the bargain - and she was far too small for him. But he didn't dare let that stop him, and the part of T'kella's stare that wasn't sheer terror said that she knew it too. For all that, there was nothing at all feigned about her scream.

"Stop! You're hurting me! Please, I can't do this. You're hurting me, hurting me, hurting me..." Her words tailed off into a pure shriek.

Hammond pulled away, wanting to be violently sick but knowing that was something else he didn't dare. "Useless bitch! All right, turn over. Over, I said! Like this!"

"What? No, I certainly can't do that! Please, no!" T'kella screamed. But she was right - she certainly couldn't do that, and he didn't even need to try. In pretended frustration that revolted him, Hammond slapped what was within easy reach and yelled at her afresh.

"All right. Last chance. On your knees, bitch, and open your mouth. Open it! Wider than that!"

"It doesn't open any wider!" T'kella yelled back. "I'm not like you! Don't you know anything, you stupid - " And he knew the last word was a particularly disgusting Aqutebian profanity, and she gave him the briefest of nods to confirm that she knew what to expect. He didn't dare slap her face. He had no idea how hard a blow would break her frail-looking neck. Instead he slapped somewhere less vulnerable, but still with enough force to knock her bodily from her knees and onto her back.

"Useless! Useless foul-mouthed little whore. Isn't there anything you can do?" he raged.

"I - I can do this," T'kella sobbed, reaching out for him. He slapped her away.

"That's no good! I can do that myself. Eesti's swollen gonads, what a waste of time and money!" Hammond adjusted his clothing and hammered on the door in unsimulated fury. Only the cause of the fury was a pretence. It was only a few moments before the cell door opened and Hammond stamped out as hard as was possible in the low gravity.

His rage even made Overseer Wasolyn flinch momentarily, but Hammond waved at him. "Not your fault, friend, you warned me and I gave it a go at my own risk. The useless... I need a hit."

Hammond rummaged in the pocket of his uniform and took out a nicostick, a poor substitute for any number of illegal narcotics that made the rounds of the Eight but at any rate a legal one. He squeezed a hearty shot into his mouth and inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to cough because he knew at the moment it could so easily end with him being sick. The synthetic narcotic substitute took effect in moments and Hammond gave a shuddering breath.

"No, that won't do," he said. "No way's that little tease getting away with this. Say, friend, you got a slave canister on the station? I'll pay you two, three times the going rate."

Overseer Wasolyn looked genuinely shocked, if Hammond could read anything into Aqutebi body language and expression. "Sir! What you are asking is certainly illegal! As you asked earlier, I shall warn you - but the State does not sell slaves from its Astromines."

"Seriously? But you quote purchase prices for them - and I'm guessing it's not to hand them to Amnesty Intergalactic for nothing."

"That is a matter of policy I shall not discuss with an offworlder," said Overseer Wasolyn primly. "But what I have told you is mandated by the State, and even were I minded to defy the State, we have no facilities to export slaves. Excuse me a moment." He turned to a passing guard and addressed him in rapid Aqutebian that Hammond had no hope of following, except that he caught the word "doctor" and the guard's assent.

"Okay. So suppose we don't call it slavery," said Hammond. "Slaves are trade goods, whoever buys them is planning on selling them on for a profit - that's what your law covers. Suppose we look at it another way. Call me a... a private collector. I hand over some cash. I take the girl and I get around to seeing she delivers my money's worth. You get to hand the State a thousand credits in exchange for getting rid of a nuisance. And I see you, yourself, don't come out of the deal with a sour taste in your mouth. Am I talking a language we both understand?" He mimed a thousand credits in one hand and another thousand in the other, one winging its way towards the distant planet and one staying right where it was on the Astromine.

"Sir, I must ask you to excuse me a moment," said Overseer Wasolyn as another official came towards them. He was dressed like just another prison guard but Wasolyn addressed him in much more respectful tones. The newcomer said only "Yes," and went into T'kella's cell.

"Okay," said Hammond. "Suppose you think that over for a minute or two, and if you've got another suggestion, make it. I need to back off and let you see how it's looking to you."

Overseer Wasolyn was indeed deep in thought until the plainly-dressed doctor emerged. Again the Aqutebian was too rapid for him to follow, and Hammond only caught "bruising... quite severe... some bleeding, as if... with a truncheon". And he seemed to look at Hammond for a second as though awed. Wasolyn didn't turn a hair, though. "Fit for duty tomorrow?". It was such a stereotypical Aqutebian phrase that it was among the first that Hammond had picked up, even to the interrogative. The doctor pondered for barely a second. "Yes. Six hours, then medicine, then fit in four more."

Hammond didn't dare grit his teeth at the realization that Overseer and doctor alike were perfectly content to see T'kella receive no medical attention for six hours. He only waited imperturbably for the doctor to leave before asking gruffly, "What do you say? That slut get the better of me, or have we a deal?"

"I could nearly see my way to going along with you if mine were the last word," said Overseer Wasolyn, "but I have officials over me, as you must know, and - I will speak bluntly at risk of my own safety - a thousand credits for the Party will not satisfy a Commissar when next I am inspected."

Hammond drew on his nicostick for the last time. "Understood, sir. I can go this far. Five thousand - you know better than I how much of this to pass on to the Commissar - and you are rid of a nuisance. Indeed, you can make an example of her. You have another foolish girl who thinks she can thumb her nose at the State, you tell her, 'Remember what happened to - ' " Hammond's brain interrupted at hyperspeed just in time to cut out T'kella's name, which he supposedly did not know - " ' to, whatever her name is?' and she will say 'Who?' and you will say 'Exactly; learn the lesson'. And meanwhile - I'll have my five thousand's worth out of her if I have to pay for surgery to make it happen."

He had finally struck the right note, and he pressed home with, "It's up to you whether you want to smuggle her aboard in a sack, march her over there right now, or parade the prisoners and let them all see. Whatever works best for you. And a bunch of convicts get to go without their comforts, but they should have known it was never a right, shouldn't they?"

Turning to go, Hammond added as if in an afterthought, "However you do it, she's aboard ten minutes before we lift, or the deal's off."

* * * * *

If Overseer Wasolyn was planning any brinksmanship, he was determined to make sure of his five thousand credits first. T'kella was hustled to Dangerous Moonlight's berth with a full eleven minutes to go until departure, dressed now in a set of anonymous prison fatigues that almost completely concealed her sex. Almost; there was enough dimorphism about an Aqutebian's head alone that female could be told from male readily enough, even on Hammond's indifferent acquaintance. She looked numbly at him, hobbled up the boarding ramp, and whispered "Please don't hurt me..." as though they were the last words she could remember. But she added "Please don't hurt me, spaceman," and that was all the confirmation Hammond needed along with the memory of her voice.

"That's as I shall choose, girl," Hammond whispered coldly, then took out a bundle of hundred-GalCreds. "As agreed, friend. No more casino trips for me this crossing, I'll have to get my entertainment some other way."

As soon as Wasolyn had left with his five thousand credits - immediately warranted and counted thanks to the wonders of Aqutebi technology - and the door was closed, Hammond rasped "Booster, give her a hand."

"No," T'kella rasped hoarsely. "Don't touch me yet, any of you. Give me time."

"All right. Booster, show her the autodoc. It's already set for 'Aqutebi indigenous'," said Hammond. That would save a few seconds, although the 'doc would have had her gene-scanned in a very short time anyway. "Jefferson, prepare warm-start to commence five minutes before scheduled launch, not a second later."

"Got it, boss," said Jefferson. His face was ugly as he looked at the condition T'kella was in, and he had to look away.

Well, work would keep him occupied over the next few minutes while they waited to see if Wasolyn had anything up his sleeve. Hammond touched the comm panel and spoke to the station's loading master. "Astromine LVP328-AQ6, this is Dangerous Moonlight. Please confirm freight manifest loaded and all secure."

There was a brief pause before the loading master replied. "Dangerous Moonlight, please be advised of loading delay. Five tons of minerals still to load."

"Negative," said Hammond urbanely. "Pre-launch sequence is under way. Short manifest logged, will forward to GalCop trading standards authority. Clear all station personnel from our hold, hatch will close automatically in thirty seconds."

He wondered mischievously what panic his calm words had caused the loading master. Whatever orders he had from Wasolyn, a black mark for short weight would see stringent financial penalties from GalCop that in all likelihood would put Astromine Penal Colony LVP328-AQ6 below quota, and there would be a Commissar to pay - which among any spacers who dealt with Communist systems was reckoned considerably more serious than paying hell. Hell might or might not exist, opinion among thousands of religions galaxy-wide was sharply divided, but Commissars were extremely real and proverbial for not accepting excuses. Moments later the comm panel beeped again. "Dangerous Moonlight, query: specify quantity of minerals ordered please?"

"Forty tons, LVP328-AQ6."

"Apologies, Dangerous Moonlight! Transcription error, forty-five tons were recorded, forty have been already delivered. Your manifest is complete."

"Thank you, LVP328-AQ6. Do not give it another thought, the best of us make errors. Short manifest report is voided. Confirm personnel clear."

"Confirmed, Dangerous Moonlight."

"And that's that little tantrum dealt with," said Hammond, slapping the comm channel closed. "Jefferson, Booster, stay on your toes. How is the patient?"

"Asking for you, sir," answered Jefferson tightly.

"Take the conn, I have one minute," said Hammond. He hurried over to the couch where T'kella was receiving attention. The autodoc dispassionately listed the treatment to date: analgesics, tissue regeneration, mild sedative. She hadn't bled enough to need a transfusion but the doc had given her a minerals shot to speed her natural resanguination. "Hi," said Hammond. It wasn't enough, but there wasn't time.

"Hi, spaceman. No, still don't touch me. My head is extremely grateful and wants very much to be affectionate, but my belly won't wear it for now."

"I'd be amazed if it did. Hold on, we'll be out of here in just five minutes now."

"Maybe. It was worth trying however it turns out," said T'kella wanly.

Hammond hurried to relieve Jefferson at the conn and touched the comm panel again. "LVP328-AQ6 launch control, please be informed that Dangerous Moonlight has commenced warm start. Be advised that the berth will be unsurvivable in four minutes thirty seconds from this time, confirm mooring cables released."

"Dangerous Moonlight, abort warm start, we are short-handed, cable release is behind schedule three minutes."

Hammond touched the mute button for a few seconds. "A likely story. They can try that one if they like." He released the mute. "Launch control, Dangerous Moonlight is unable to abort warm start, confirm mooring cables release, berth unsurvivable in three minutes forty-five seconds this time, repeat, unsurvivable three minutes forty seconds this time."

There was a frantic jabbering from the comm panel, which Hammond couldn't understand, but T'kella's voice, already stronger, called out "About a quarter of that was calling for emergency personnel to get those cables released. The rest was swearing. Have you got the power to part the moorings if he doesn't get it done in time?"

"We don't need to find out. Our docking points are all sacrificial, and I can blow as many of them as I need - but I don't see why they need to know that. He can think I'll drag out half his berthing deck if he likes."

"They're stalling us," said Booster, seeming unfazed. "Or trying to, anyhow."

The comm panel beeped. Hammond acknowledged it and heard "Launch control. Dangerous Moonlight, cables are released but the launch window is impeded, repeat impeded by incoming traffic. Please acknowledge."

"LVP328-AQ6 launch control, acknowledged. Be advised that Dangerous Moonlight is type Boa Class Cruiser, one hundred seventy-five tons capacity, with full shield upgrades and energy banks at maximum nominal value. Advise traffic in window to stand clear as Dangerous Moonlight likely to survive low-velocity impact but smaller craft in great danger. Launch is on automatic. Engines powering up in ten seconds from this time to launch according to guaranteed schedule. Station, we will miss them if we can but cannot accept liability if unable. Dangerous Moonlight off the air at this time."

With a savage grin, Hammond stood by the ship's controls as she exited the Astromine. A Scavenger Ray was scuttling frantically to the side, but slowly. More excuse than genuine impediment. Dangerous Moonlight yawed wildly but no more wildly than her pilot intended. As soon as her twelve was clear, Hammond gave the injectors a few seconds, then eased off with the Boa on full normal thrust. In perfect synchronicity, Jefferson brought the ident system online just as Booster energised the laser batteries and made the missiles live. Fighting was the last way Hammond wanted to get out of this system but if it came to that then the Boa's mighty armament wasn't going to be for nothing.

He became aware that T'kella was standing next to him. "Doc finished already? I don't think so."

"It will keep. If we get through the next ten minutes, I'll go back - otherwise I'm where I want to die."

Hammond looked at the girl and had to look away. "I'm not intending to die."

"Nobody ever does. And to be honest, I never dreamed you'd get us this far," said T'kella. "Don't touch me, but I think I can do this." Her hand rested on his arm for a second before she pulled it away, not quite snatching.

"All right. Computer, confirm witchspace insertion to Bebediso."

"Confirmed," said the computer's cool contralto. "Transfer of data is complete. Countdown from fifteen - fourteen -"

"Sir, the jiminycricket!" Booster exclaimed. Hammond started and checked the instrument panel. The legal status indicator - an electronic conscience, if you like, but no-one knew where the name "jiminycricket" came from - was lit up brilliant red. Hammond was a Fugitive for the first time in his career.

"Damn his hide!" Hammond swore. "And much good may it do him. We're out of here..."

"Witchjump aborted. Too close to asteroid," reported the computer imperturbably.

"Or not, as the case may be," added T'kella. Hammond smiled at the gallows humour. She was more resilient than many a more physically robust species.

"We are target-locked by two ships, approaching fast. Range fifteen kilometres," Jefferson announced. Hammond thought fast.

"Computer, signal passengers 'Pirate emergency, no drill'. Jefferson, acquire one, give me a status, Booster, hold your fire until my order. I don't want to run our bounty any higher." Not that he knew what bounty their double-crossing Wasolyn had put on his head - assuming Wasolyn himself had done it, which was likely.

"Halt, dissident! Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded or destroyed!" screamed the squawk-box, identifying the broadcaster as a Commissar Limousine. And that, of all the horrible luck, was the other piece of the puzzle.

"Five thousand credits and denouncing an enemy of the State will get you further than five thousand credits," T'Kella remarked.

"It's likely." Either Overseer Wasolyn's nerve had cracked on seeing a Commissar arriving, and he'd set their bounty on his own authority, or else he'd squealed to the Commissar and it was that functionary who'd declared them Fugitive. Small difference in either case.

"Hostile ship is type Military Ray," said Jefferson. "Identifying the other."

"It'll be another Ray. And will you look at that?" Even the miners were bringing their feeble lasers to bear. Red light began to fill Dangerous Moonlight's rear viewscreen, by no means all of it missing.

"All right!" snapped Hammond. "That was my last nerve. Booster, cloak."

A moment later Dangerous Moonlight's display turned pale blue and the red hostiles changed to yellow. Hammond spun the ship around and hit the injectors again, blasting directly towards the sun. T'kella blinked in astonishment. "What happened?"

"We disappeared. Piece of tech I picked up a while back, before Steel Thunder. It installs itself when you scoop it, interfaces seamlessly with your power supply - and it turns the ship invisible. I've never even heard a rumour that there's another one anywhere - and you can be sure I've not asked the Navy, good though they've been to me."

"So now we bug out, right?"

"So now we bug out, wrong. I tried to play this nice. Now it's time for a spot of nasty. Booster, uncloak."

They were still within detection range of the Rays, but far too far away for the miners. Moments later Jefferson confirmed "Enemy spotted." At more than fifteen klicks, though, the Rays would mostly be lasering deep space. "Fighting or running, sir?"

"Neither. Select cargo type 'Minerals', prepare to dump ten containers," said Hammond coldly. "Can't go shooting policemen, Mr Jefferson. But if they have an accident in deep space, whose fault is that?"

"Acknowledged. Sir, range is closing fast! They're injecting."

"Of course they're injecting," said Hammond, bringing the two traces dead astern. "They have a Fugitive to intercept. Begin dumping." Hammond nudged Dangerous Moonlight's main drive slow ahead.

"Ten tons of minerals dumped," confirmed Jefferson. "Range three km and closing fast!"

"And welcome to your own little asteroid field," muttered Hammond, pushing the injectors to full and holding them there. Dangerous Moonlight responded to the huge power surge as though pulled forward by a giant hand. Moments later the two Rays sped into the cloud of dumped canisters. It would have taken a miracle of piloting to negotiate the obstacle at injection speed and Communists did not believe in miracles. Almost in the same instant, both Rays vanished in brilliant
white light.

"And not a mark on our record for that." Firing on policemen was a GalCop offence even in a Communist system where GalCop law was not welcome - but Dangerous Moonlight hadn't fired a shot. "Jefferson, stand by to dump our remaining thirty tons of minerals."

"Standing by, sir." From Jefferson's face he would have eagerly accepted an order to drop a planet-killer on Aqutebi herself. Bienese were quite happy with "An eye for an eye, plus the other eye and an axe through the head, and then you burn the village to the ground, sow it with salt and pronounce a curse upon it" as a philosophical position.

"Good. Booster, prepare to launch the Cascade Mine for munitions disposal."

"Yes, sir. Confirmed safe zone. Disposal mode set. Ready to launch with no target."

"Wait for my mark." Hammond carefully centred the Astromine in the space compass and peered into the sight, trying to centre the distant smudge in the crosshairs. It was a bright smudge, with the sun at their backs, small but distinctive in shape. "Both of you, get ready. Booster, cloak."

Hammond pushed the injectors again. He'd have liked to pull this manouevre in hyperspeed but there would have been no warning of when they would be masslocked. Injection speed would have to do. "Mine away and recloak, Booster."

"Mine is gone. Engaging the cloak." With a Cascade Mine ticking down in the vicinity Hammond was more than happy to keep Dangerous Moonlight running at full injection speed. As for the cloak, firing any armament cancelled it - but Booster had it re-engaged in an instant and it would be a remarkable feat for anyone to have spotted the Boa's trace in the bare second they had.

"Jefferson, dump cargo, thirty tons minerals." Still fully twenty-five kilometres distant, the Astromine was looming larger by the second and it was no trouble to centre it in the reticle.

"Thirty tons of cargo away," confirmed Jefferson. A host of white traces appeared on the tactical display, a tiny fraction short of the ship's enormous speed. Hammond pushed Dangerous Moonlight's nose over, gently first then harder as he cleared the deadly cloud behind them, cut the injectors and re-engaged witchdrive. As if nothing of moment had occurred in the last few minutes, the computer began the sequence afresh.

"Sir, mine is about to blow!" exclaimed Booster. "Three seconds - two - one..." The fireball, even at nearly thirty kilometres, was awesome - "sinister yet magnificent" as the old phrase ran - and it would have spelled doom for any Witchdrive-equipped ship within many kilometres and resulted in an even more impressive explosion. But to anyone watching, the lack of secondary explosions would be a puzzle and it clearly could not have been used to destroy the Rays. Perhaps a malfunction...?

At any rate, it would do for now. Obviously the fugitive trader had suffered a tragic accident and it was hardly her fault that a storm of debris was even now inbound for Astromine Penal Colony LVP328-AQ6. But Dangerous Moonlight would not be there to see it. Even as the Q-bomb fireball began to collapse, the wormhole opened, the cloaking device automatically disengaged, and Dangerous Moonlight disappeared from Aqutebi system. Just a few hours in Witchspace, but a few hours of peace and quiet.

* * * * *

[Malacandra]

"You. Autodoc. Now," said Hammond. T'kella didn't demur, even as Hammond also opened the intercom to the passenger cabins. "Attention, please. Pirate emergency is over. We are now safely in Witchspace, computer confirms safe insertion, arrival at Bebediso Witchpoint Beacon in approximately eight hours. Dangerous Moonlight hopes you were not inconvenienced by the emergency and thanks you for your cooperation."

Booster was helping T'kella to the autodoc and she appeared able to stand it. The Uncanny Valley again, Hammond supposed. As different as he and T'Kella were, they were still much more similar than either of them was to the fat red Larivearian. And the less Booster looked like either of them, the better for T'kella's comfort.

Hammond handed over the conn to Jefferson and went to see how the patient was. He studied the autodoc's display in puzzlement. "You're improving already, but the 'doc says some of your hormones are way out of whack. It's stabilising them now."

"I'd be surprised if they weren't," said T'kella. "There was one of me on that Gulag, and I lost count of the miners and factory workers. When I was working for myself, I'd entertain one or two clients a day. I'd occasionally go to three if I really liked the look of him, and even then I'd feel... overworked. But the State, in its wisdom, didn't let its plans be interrupted by a little thing like my physical inability to deal with maybe twenty men in a row. Soviet medicine's impressive in its way."

Shaking his head, Hammond pulled a face. "I see. The doctor gives you a shot or a pill, and then you're ready for another long day in the mines."

"For my dignity it ought to have been a shot or a pill. Or a woman doctor or an autodoc at the very least. All one in the long run. That level of hormones would have killed me in a matter of months. See what you get for defying the State?"

Hammond held out his hand but didn't offer to touch her so much as let her reach out for him, if she could. "Rather clearly."

"They spelled it out for me. Had I been content to be a little peg in the hole the State had ready for me, I'd have been entertaining Party officials, accompanying dignitaries to important functions... and only occasionally had to accommodate someone high-ranking whose tastes were a little too exotic to be catered for without money changing hands. I chose to fight it, so - I got to do it the hard way instead."

"All because you wanted to be an economist."

"Yes." T'kella's eyes were bright, but dry. "Silly of me. Party officials like educated prostitutes. You can't talk for five minutes to someone who's got nothing to bring to the table but her -" He didn't know that word, but it was an easy guess what it meant. "Let's talk about something else. Why the beard, and where's Steel Thunder?"

"They're connected. Last trip Steel Thunder did was halfway across Sector Three with every Thargoid in creation trying to stop her. Navy business. And Thargoids aren't to be laughed at. I kept 'em from getting too lucky, but I got perilously close - minor burn-through, thankfully no more, but then there's not much between 'minor burn-through' and 'hull breach'. Long story short, here I am, and the Navy spotted me some top-line meds to deal with the damage. You'd think the hair follicles would be last to grow back, but it turns out not, and while the deep skin layers sort themselves out, the beard makes me look a little less startling."

"Most species wouldn't mind a little scarring, or even a lot," said T'kella. "Who's to say what humans are meant to look like?"

"Let's just say it mattered to me, and chalk it up to human vanity. Right here and now, I think it's fair to say it was the best thing I could have done. Anyway, Steel Thunder likely has a new owner by now - one with the credits to pay for just about every performance upgrade you could want, except the cloak. I took that with me. I'm about done with running up the kills; I'm going back to my taxi-driving, for good if I can. And that brings me back to what I was doing in Aqutebi system."

"Pining for me?" T'kella managed to tease.

"Recruiting. Dangerous Moonlight's gone corporate, and the sooner I sponsor DM II the better. Jefferson's got the hunger, but not the training yet. That's not a problem; you can find wannabe pilots in any station. Trained economists are rarer, though."

T'kella's hand squeezed his. She couldn't hurt his hand, but she was doing an Aqutebian girl's best. "In earnest?"

"Never more so. I need - or let's say Dangerous Moonlight, Incorporated needs - a business analyst who's hungry for work. Also you get a uniform like this. The tailor's already programmed."

Her eyes closed and she began to cry freely at last. "And an hour ago I was in hell with two months to live. You know I'm not going to be fit for anything - business analysis or anything else - for a long time?"

"Medicine will help. And not the kind that switches off your brain and tells you you're feeling A-OK no matter what. Ethical medicine. I can either drop you off with enough GalCreds to see you rehabilitated and arrange your fare to wherever suits us both, or put a doctor up in one of the staterooms and pay her fare once she's done. A good business analyst would soon make the expenses back either way."

"A good business analyst who isn't broken would start paying off straight away," said T'kella.

Hammond gave her hand a gentle squeeze of his own, and she managed not to pull away. "I'll kick that decision upstairs to the Managing Director... and he says you're hired, if you want the job."

Her eyes opened. "As long as he doesn't make a habit of asking silly questions, I'm not even going to argue about the salary. And the uniform can't be worse than prison gear."

* * * * *

Bebediso was just a fuel stop, and Hammond was unable to find a doctor in need of a sabbatical in the time available. That was too bad for now – the next system was only hours away, and boasted a higher tech level than Bebediso, which was still a backward system inching her way up the long ladder. The autodoc would carry on rehabilitating T'kella physically, at least, and that was much better than nothing.

Having arranged for credit transfer to clear the “clerical error” of his Offender status, Hammond returned to Dangerous Moonlight with plenty of time to spare. As soon as he boarded, Booster waved him over. “Sir! Something you'd like to see.”

It was a newscast from Aqutebi system, relayed by a trader who'd quit the Communist system a few hours behind her. Booster had the whole cast stored in Dangerous Moonlight's system, and it made interesting reading.

Apparently a counter-revolutionary had staged a dastardly assault on Astromine LVP328-AQ6, occasioning minor damage and disruption, but disaster had been averted by the heroic sacrifice of two Military Ray pilots who, outgunned by the treacherous outworlder, had unhesitatingly laid down their own lives in a suicide run that successfully eliminated the threat to the State, and would be immortalised with a place on the Monument of People's Heroes in the Great Memorial Glade. The counter-revolutionary could never have got so far without the connivance of the egregious Station Overseer, whose life had been forfeit on the spot for his crime, and so perish all traitors. There was the usual leavening of bombast from an irate Commissar, but no more substance to the news.

“We've won,” breathed Hammond. “All that tissue of lies was pure face-saving. As far as Aqutebi's concerned, neither we nor Dangerous Moonlight exist any more. Otherwise they have to admit they got beaten.”

“Your business analyst,” said T'kella, “recommends you liquidate your company and begin a new one. Boa Class Cruisers are common enough that a change of name and ownership will hide her. GalCop aren't going to trip over themselves to put Aqutebi straight.”

“A shame,” Hammond grinned. “I rather liked the name. Ah well, I still have this.”

He took a small silver statuette out of the ship's safe. It was an antique of considerable value, no matter the metal it was made of, and even though wear and tear had blurred some fine detail. Perhaps it was some aboriginal's imagining of a wind spirit, a religious icon – even secular artwork showing a female human in billowing dress leaning on a strong wind. “Flying Lady. The family story said it came from a time when it represented luxury transport with no expense spared. I called my first Cobra after her – maybe it's time to resurrect her.”

T'kella took the figurine. “Flying Lady. She'd be beautiful if she had horns. I like that a lot.”

And, from the way she pressed the silver Lady against her cheek – no longer bruised – it seemed as though her recovery might be brought about sooner than they had thought.

[xzanfr]

Hi Malacandra.
I've had a quick look and these look like great stories, and I'm looking forward to reading them in full - would you mind if I converted them to something like a pdf so that I can read them when I'm not online? No problem if not, it's just I don't want to get rumbled at work Cheers.

[Malacandra]

I think it's safe to say you won't be seeking to make a profit out of my work so please feel free - I consider myself complimented.

Parts of Dangerous Moonlight are not family friendly, though I have tried not to be too graphic.

[xzanfr]

Thanks Malacandra. - I'm not family friendly either so I'm looking forward to it
If you want a copy of it please drop me a pm with an email address and I'll send it over to you. - Thanks again.

[xzanfr]

I just though I'd give a bit of feedback on the stories and post the response to Ships That Pass In The Night, Steel Thunder&Dangerous Moonlight here as I'm being a bit lazy!

I've been reading the 3 stories over the past week and was totally enthralled - I love your gritty explanation of the space stations and the bureaucratic control on the commie worlds - especially the "over the line" way of going from glacop to system administration. T'kella is really well written and is perfectly pitched avoiding making her too over the top - just someone you'd expect to bump in to on such a station with their place of meeting being very believable and excellently described.
As a group they work really well together to tell the story of commander Hammond and his career choices (I'll not go too in depth to avoid spoilers!) They're pretty dark towards the end but written in a way that progresses the plot rather than being gratuitous.

At a time where the adult content of the books for E:D is being discussed I think your "description to graphic" level is pitched pretty much spot on.

Well done Malacandra and thanks for entertaining me with your writing over the past week, I hope you find the time to write some more

[Thermonuklear]

I also finished reading the first two stories. Wonderful stuff. The third one is way too long to read from screen though, so I gathered the three stories to a text file and converted the file to .epub format so I can finish reading on my e-reader. Naturally not going to put it up anywhere. Hope it's OK with you

[Malacandra]

I just though I'd give a bit of feedback on the stories and post the response to Ships That Pass In The Night, Steel Thunder&Dangerous Moonlight here as I'm being a bit lazy!

I've been reading the 3 stories over the past week and was totally enthralled - I love your gritty explanation of the space stations and the bureaucratic control on the commie worlds - especially the "over the line" way of going from glacop to system administration. T'kella is really well written and is perfectly pitched avoiding making her too over the top - just someone you'd expect to bump in to on such a station with their place of meeting being very believable and excellently described.
As a group they work really well together to tell the story of commander Hammond and his career choices (I'll not go too in depth to avoid spoilers!) They're pretty dark towards the end but written in a way that progresses the plot rather than being gratuitous.

At a time where the adult content of the books for E:D is being discussed I think your "description to graphic" level is pitched pretty much spot on.

Well done Malacandra and thanks for entertaining me with your writing over the past week, I hope you find the time to write some more

Thank you! Just got the last story finished before the flu really kicked in - a couple of sleepless nights starting to feel feverish actually helped me plot things out in my head. As for more writing, we'll see - I have urgent RW stuff to deal with and the flu's knocked that back. But I enjoyed this so much it seems a shame not to... some time.

[Cody]

But I enjoyed this so much it seems a shame not to... some time.

<chortles> Be warned... writing Oofic can become addictive!

[another_commander]

Kick-ass fiction. It was playing in my head like a movie while I was reading it through. Great story telling skills there, sir. Respect to you and looking forward to more and soon.

[DaddyHoggy]

Kick-ass fiction. It was playing in my head like a movie while I was reading it through. Great story telling skills there, sir. Respect to you and looking forward to more and soon.

I concur!

I feel the need for "More Alien Items" - a follow up Anthology to our 2011 one.

[Cody]

I feel the need for "More Alien Items" - a follow up Anthology to our 2011 one.

Heh... title it Alien Items - Live and Kickin' (prompted by the TMA's recent OXP, Lazarus).

[Thermonuklear]

I finally read through all three stories. You kick ass, man!
Hopefully your well of creativity hasn't dried up yet, I'd love to read more of your stuff.

[cim]

But I enjoyed this so much it seems a shame not to... some time.

Looking forward to it, when you're ready.

Definitely an interesting character, Hammond. Good stories throughout, and the bits where he's struggling with the morality of shooting pirates I thought were very nicely done.

[Cholmondely]

The next part of Malacandra's story is here: https://bb.oolite.space/viewtopic.php?f=11&t=16710: Flying Dutchman